


captivation

by hydroxidecookie



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Pining, just...pining a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydroxidecookie/pseuds/hydroxidecookie
Summary: The Patrician thinks about the puzzle that is Sam Vimes--a walking contradiction that he'll never understand.He doesn't know it, but Vimes is thinking about him too.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. captivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Patrician thinks about Samuel Vimes.

They sit across the Patrician’s desk in the Oblong Office. 11 o’clock as always, without fail, their inscrutable gazes revealing almost nothing about what they’re thinking. Indeed, Sam Vimes has picked up a few tricks from the Patrician over the years.  


Vetinari turns Vimes over in his mind. It’s an intellectual exercise to even him—it’s hard to ever get the measure of such a man.

Sometimes he thinks he has him all figured out, can play him the way he plays the city like violin strings. But the man manages to surprise him; not often, he admits, but to surprise Lord Vetinari even once is an accomplishment. Vimes seems to take a perverse pleasure in being unexpected, in unravelling all the threads that other people have so carefully woven—and yet managing to emerge, unscathed, out of the web. In a less cynical world, he would be the fair knight shining pure after emerging from the brambles of evil. Vimes would scoff at such an image, but it fits him more than he would think. 

Who in seedy, underhanded Ankh-Morpork could truly understand such a man? Certainly not himself; he, who inhabits a world of infinitely-layered plots and quadruple entendres, couldn’t differ more from the Commander. No, perhaps Captain Carrot? Vimes prides himself on being a seasoned copper, disillusioned by all his experience of the city. But it’s plain to anyone who interacts with him that under all the sweat and grime, he’s still that idealistic young captain. A walking contradiction, a puzzling but fascinating one. 

Rather incredible, actually—a man who has seen so much of the world’s twisted underbelly, and yet still clings stubbornly to his ideals of both justice and mercy. Fools’ ideals, Vetinari would say—except that more often than not, the world decides to humour him. It changes before his eyes, offers a glimpse of a better world that doesn’t even exist. He makes it all happen effortlessly, and Vetinari will never even pretend to understand. He will never forget Sergeant John Keel facing an angry mob with only his palms against his sides. And his younger self watching, entranced, as the tide of resentment finds its centre—and against all odds, calms. 

He’s still entranced. It’s a secret he’ll probably carry to his grave.

Damn it all, the man captivates him. How would one understand such a visceral man? He defies all logical thought, proving even after all this time to be a puzzle that not even the Patrician’s mind can solve. Perhaps Vetinari has the exact wrong kind of mind—the tortuous, logical mind that is the opposite of Vimes’s own. He belongs to the wrong kind of world as well. Paperwork and politics? Never—Vimes is most at home on the streets, in the mad seconds of adrenaline that a chase brings.

Perhaps—perhaps the only way to understand such a man would be to play on his field. Abandon all logical thought, give in to emotions, the very things he always considered as weaknesses but have turned to strengths in Sam Vimes’s scarred hands. Do something unexpected _push him up against a wall and kiss him hard, feel his own traitorous heart hammering wild in his clockwork chest_ and never look back—

Never. Damn his useless imagination; yet another habit picked up from Vimes.

All these thoughts pass through his mind in a fraction of a second. Vimes is still looking at him. He speaks inconsequential words, betraying not one sentence of his thoughts. And inevitably— “Don’t let me detain you, Commander.” 

This is the way it has always gone, and it is the way things will always be. He looks out across the city, allowing a grim smile to grace his lips before turning back to his paperwork.


	2. to love a machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Vimes thinks as he sits across Verinari in the Oblong Office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from the perspective of Vimes whereas the previous chapter was from the perspective of Vetinari. Also let's just imagine for the purposes of this story that Sybil's not in the picture, I love her but I don't see how they would work with Sybil and Young Sam around, sorry!

Vimes watches Vetinari select a report from the neat pile in front of him, his movements fluid as a lynx's. Each imminent movement and word has no doubt been carefully curated before this meeting, so as to achieve the desired effect on Vimes himself. A fact he’d learned as a child is dredged up from the depths of his memory: Spiders construct their webs very carefully, so as to ensnare bigger prey. He smiles inwardly. 

And he always falls for it, damn Vetinari. He's not stupid, but his mind is simple, hungering only for the chase. He wasn't born to play this politician's game, to read the double or even triple meanings behind words. He'd rather deck the bugger before he even has the chance to run his mouth. He's just _Vetinari's terrier_ , always running after the stick even when it's still safely in the Patrician's hand.

People said that Ankh-Morpork was just a machine run by another machine which was more well-oiled by comparison. He used to privately agree with that sentiment, but now? He's not so sure. He's seen the man behind the machine too many times over the years. 

He can still make out the details through the blind fog of panic and stink of blood that envelope that memory; The Patrician's body had felt warm, thank the gods, his blood as red and sticky as any man's. And under his skin—an unmistakable heartbeat, thudding strong and true.

Even Vetinari can't plan for everything. Beneath the measured gaze lies a hint of another side to him—the side that once stood up so ferociously that his chair had hit the wall. Indeed, how glorious the battles would have been that men never had to fight. Vimes understands that now. He understands a lot more of Vetinari's decisions lately. It worries him. He's... _changed_. 

Maybe the man is toying with him again, making him think that he's human after all—just so he can use Vimes as his personal pawn. He's surprised at the sheer tide of anger that rises in him at this thought. It's almost as if these 11 o'clock meetings have begun to mean something to him. 

Gods, who is he kidding? He can't even imagine a day without Vetinari as the Patrician.

And then he remembers that he owes almost everything he has to Vetinari, and he's resentful and a tiny bit proud and ashamed all at once. 

Vetinari looks up from his report, grey eyes meeting Vimes's own. Vimes thinks of kissing the greying hair at his temple, of rolling the select name _Havelock_ around in his mouth, of making love to the salt and earth of the city and listening to its thundering pulse. 

Would he taste of Ankh-Morpork?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, please tell me what you thought if you can!


End file.
